Hoodoo

Hoodoo

Ronald L. Smith

Language: English

Pages: 224

ISBN: 0544445252

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub



Winner of the 2016 Coretta Scott King/John Steptoe New Talent Author Award

Twelve-year-old Hoodoo Hatcher was born into a family with a rich tradition of practicing folk magic: hoodoo, as most people call it. But even though his name is Hoodoo, he can't seem to cast a simple spell.

When a mysterious man called the Stranger comes to town, Hoodoo starts dreaming of the dead rising from their graves. Even worse, he soon learns the Stranger is looking for a boy. Not just any boy. A boy named Hoodoo. The entire town is at risk from the Stranger's black magic, and only Hoodoo can defeat him. He'll just need to learn how to conjure first.

Set amid the swamps, red soil, and sweltering heat of small town Alabama in the 1930s, Hoodoo is infused with a big dose of creepiness leavened with gentle humor.

For the Love of Mike (Molly Murphy, Book 3)

For the Love of Mike (Molly Murphy, Book 3)

The After-Room (The Apothecary, Book 3)

The Extra

Dead End in Norvelt

Name of the Star (Shades of London, Book 1)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

to a little altar she had set up, just like the one at our house. A bowl of water sat next to some red candles with wax dripping down them and onto the table. What looked like plain old dirt was in another bowl, and some kind of half-burned, funny-smelling tree branch was there too, along with some playing cards. I picked up a few. They were bigger than the cards Aunt Jelly and I used to play hearts. One of them had a man hanging upside down, another one showed an angel blowing a trumpet—that

talisman to keep away evil.” I didn’t know what that was and my face must’ve shown it. “It’s something you wear or hold in your hand. Something that will protect you, like a mojo bag.” “My Mama Frances made a mojo bag for me one time,” I said, “but it didn’t work.” Mrs. Snuff winked at me. “That’s ’cause you got to believe, boy.” I sighed. Everybody kept telling me that. “What you need is a cat’s-eye stone, a piece of broken chain, and a rat bone.” She reached back in the bag and pulled out

an old coon dog. “The One That Did the Deed,” he muttered. “Main de Gloire.” Zeke backed up a step, like the man had stank breath. That was a sign that something wasn’t right. Zeke shook his head. “Afraid I can’t help you with that, good man. Never heard of it.” The man took one look around, sniffed again, and shuffled out the store. He had to duck his head so his hat wouldn’t get knocked off on the way out. The door banged shut, and the cowbell rang for what seemed like minutes. Cousin Zeke

town, like a black shadow creeping across the sun. And then I heard it. Something I’d hoped I’d never hear again: I sold my soul to the devil; he won’t let me alone. That was his song. The Stranger’s. It floated all around the room, but I didn’t see him. I live down in the valley, five hundred steps. Something moved at the corner of my eye. I turned. A black shape flowed down the chimney like molasses and oozed on the floor. I blinked, and a second later, it rose up into the shape of a

Bunny said. “My master’s here.” And then she put her hand to her mouth and giggled. I hated seeing Bunny like that, but I didn’t have time to think about it. Zacharias Cain was getting closer, just taking his sweet time. My left hand was red-hot, like fire, tingling like never before. Clip, clop, clip, clop. Zacharias Cain reached in the folds of his black cloak and pulled something out. It was a sickle, like I’d seen on that playing card at Mrs. Snuff’s, glowing in the dark that had fallen

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